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Sebastian glanced up as the waitress set his coffee down and scrambled back behind the relative safety of the counter. Her actions brought him a small twinge of amusement. Maybe she was a smart girl after all.
He pulled the files out and spread them on the table before him. Taking a long sip of his coffee, he scanned the documents. His smile faltered and faded. He sat up a little straighter, his intense gaze narrowing in interest. The quiet rustle of paper filled the diner as he frantically flipped through the pages, searching them from front to back.
“What is this?” he mused, his pulse quickening.
Bracing his elbows on the table, Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his sinuses. It did nothing to diffuse the dull ache budding behind them.
The incident reports were clear. Nothing in them came as any shock. What did was the complete lack of evidence backing the statements that Taylor was dead. Marx claimed they’d transported her remains to the hospital, but there were no pictures. No body. Nothing. Nothing but useless words and the familiar tingle that assured him Taylor was near.
CHAPTER 14 ~
Taylor jerked awake with a start. Grimacing, she struggled to elude the heavy fist entrenched in her hair. She wasn’t sure when she’d lost consciousness, but the look on Marx’s face warned the man was far from pleased. Her eyes darted to his free hand, a surge of relief sweeping through her when she saw the open plastic bottle he held. She licked her cracked lips in greedy anticipation, no longer feeling the pain. All she could think about was getting that first much needed sip and quenching her thirst.
Her mouth felt like a desert wasteland, her tongue a thick, prickly cactus. It felt like it had been days since she last had a drink, though she had no way of knowing for sure. Time was just one long, meaningless stretch here. Exhausted, she battled the heavy pull of her eyelids.
“Now, now,” Marx chided. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you just yet. There’s so much more waiting in store for you, Miss McAvay. So much more,” the commander growled.
He jerked her head back harder, the sharp angle forcing her neck to bow. Ramming the rim of the bottle against her lips, he poured the water down her throat. The rush of cool water was a blast of heaven. She gulped it down greedily, not wanting to waste a single drop. Marx poured faster. Unable to keep up, Taylor choked, but the stream kept coming. She coughed and sputtered, jerking violently against her restraints, frantic with her efforts to breathe. Laughing, the commander shifted the bottle so water poured up her nose, flooding the back of her throat.
A hot rush of blood flowed down her arms, amping her terror. It was too much. She was drowning and shredding herself to ribbons just to stay alive.
Marx paused, smiling as he stroked the edge of the bottle against her cheek. “We wound tiny threads of barbed wire through the chains,” he explained. “You might want to stop struggling or this game won’t last long.”
“Why are you doing this?” she croaked.
“You know why. You took the best man I had and turned him against me. You turned him against this organization and his team. I spent years forming him, shaping him into the perfect killing machine. My time, my money, all of it was a waste. What are his plans, Taylor? Hmm? What is he planning to do with Blue?”
She sucked in a sharp hiss of pain as the hold on her hair tightened. An unspeakable fear crawled through her as she realized she was helpless to protect her baby if the man decided to start swinging. She had to try to keep him calm, but how? The brief mental scramble cost her. Hauling her head back again, Marx started pouring. This time, the water came harder and faster than before. Bucking against his fist, she gagged and wretched, expelling the meager contents of her stomach in a violent heave.
The commander’s face darkened with rage. His broad features contorted, shifting into something feral and demonic above her. Tossing the now empty water bottle aside, he kept his hold on her hair and clouted her with the back of his fist. His heavy silver rings cracked against her cheek. The blow left her head reeling.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. What are his plans with Blue?”
She didn’t know. She honestly didn’t. Unable to think, let alone lend voice to her words, she gave a helpless shake of her head.
His thick lips tightened into a grim purse. Folding his arms across his chest, Marx stared down at her and nodded. “Consider that the last drink of water you’ll get. Things are only going to get worse for you from here on out. I guarantee you by the time I am through, your tune will change. You will go from wanting to live to praying for death. You have two hours, Taylor, and that is all. Two hours and you had better give me the answers I need.”
~*~*~*~
The harsh fluorescent lights in the hospital were blinding. Sebastian winced, wishing he’d had the good sense to grab a pair of sunglasses. His head still pounded, the throbbing in his temples setting his teeth even more on edge. The small handful of aspirin he’d swallowed hadn’t been enough to shake the lingering side effects of a hangover. Southern Comfort his ass. The label had been full of false promises. He’d found little comfort at the bottom of that bottle, and the day after was proving to be a real bitch.
Lesson learned.
The soles of his shoes clacked against the linoleum, marking his long strides as he roamed the corridors in search of the administrative office. A few turns later, and he found what he was looking for. He didn’t bother knocking.
The startled secretary took one look at his face and pointed him toward the Chief of Staff’s door without a fight. It was just as well. He really wasn’t in the mood for games. What little bit of patience he’d had to begin with had worn perilously thin over the past couple days. All he wanted was to find Taylor and go home. The sooner that happened, the safer everyone else would be. At this point, he was no longer above a few frivolous casualties just to prove a point. In fact, he was starting to welcome it.
The plump woman seated behind her desk surged to her feet the moment he burst into her office. Her ruby lips parted in indignant protest, but he silenced her with a quick jab of his finger in her direction. Heavy jowls swayed along her chin as she jerked her head back in surprise.
“Shut up,” he warned. “I’m here looking for some files on a patient you recently had.”
She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose with a meaty finger. Brown, beady eyes narrowed even further, dropping into distrustful slits. He balled his fists, resisting the urge to blast the look right off her face.
“We don’t just give that information out, sir. You’ll have to make an app--”
Suspicion turned to fear after he flashed his badge. It never failed to amuse him how quickly the shield opened doors and shut yaps. He smirked as she changed her tune and turned to the large metal cabinet behind her. His amusement faded as he leaned over her desk and flipped through the pages of the hospital records. The file proved no more enlightening than the police’s copy. Still no autopsy photos. Still no tangible proof of Taylor’s demise, just page upon page of more meaningless words.
Cracking his neck, Sebastian rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shake the thick knots of tension gathering behind them. Where was his lost little lamb? Marx was good. He would give him that much. The web of lies surrounding her disappearance grew denser with every turn. Lucky for the director, he enjoyed a little challenge. He made a mental note of the doctor’s name and, without another word to the woman behind the desk, turned in search of the man.
Dr. Pollaski was not a difficult person to find. He was well-liked and respected among his colleagues. It was too bad he was no longer of the same opinion of the good doctor. There was something to be said about a man who was willing to risk everything to help save the life of a stranger. He’d put a lot on the line by covering Taylor’s pregnancy and helping them find treatment outside of the hospital or clinic doors. That, he appreciated. Unfortunately, Wayne Pollaski had picked the wrong person to lie to this time.
Leaning against the wa
ll, Sebastian folded his arms and watched him finish his latest round of assessments. He was a tall man with a high forehead and a gentle countenance that alluded to the doctor’s kind heart. More than once, he’d paused to glance Sebastian’s way with a look of recognition and curiosity. He waited until the physician exited the last room in the corridor before pushing himself off the wall and approaching his side.
“Dr. Pollaski?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?” the man asked, offering a warm smile Sebastian didn’t return.
“Perhaps you remember me.”
“I do, but I can’t place the name.”
“Sebastian Baas. I have a few questions regarding a patient you treated last week. My fiancée, Taylor McAvay, a twenty-one year old Caucasian female who was transported here after a terrorist attack. The records indicate you were the attending physician that night.”
The man’s dark grey brow furrowed. He stopped his stride and lowered the clipboard, a small frown creasing his face. “I remember her, but not from that night. May I ask what this is about?”
Sebastian pulled a worn photograph from his pocket. He knew the image well. It was one he’d worn close to his heart over the past week and not a night had gone by where he hadn’t studied each curve, each highlight and subtle shadow as he traced the contours of Taylor’s face. Turning it toward the doctor, his jaw steeled.
“Think hard. Did you see this woman that night?”
